SCENE in PART SECOND
Stop, friends ; stop this! There is no sense in it—
It shows but useless spite! I have much to say :
The French Ambassador, de Beauharnais,
Has come, and sought the King. And next Murat,
With thirty thousand men, half cavalry,
Is closing in upon our doomed Madrid!
I know not what he means, this Bonaparte ;
He makes pretence to gain us Portugal,
But what want we with her ? Tis like as not
His aim's to noose us vassals all to him!
The King will abdicate, and shortly too,
As those will live to see who live not long.—
We have saved our nation from the Favourite,
But who is going to save us from our Friend ?
The mob desists dubiously and goes out; the musical box upon the floor plays on, the taper burns to its socket, and the room becomes wrapt in the shades of night.
LONDON : THE MARCHIONESS OF SALISBURY'S
A large reception-room is disclosed, arranged for a conversazione. It is^n evening in the summer following, and at present the chamber is empty and in gloom. At one end is an elaborate device, representing Britannia offering her assistance to Spain, and at the other a figure of Time crowning the Spanish Patriots' flag with laurel.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
O clarionists of human welterings, Relate how Europe's madding movement brings This easeful haunt into the path of palpitating things !